The French and the Feline
by All Galimatias
Summary: Arthur can shapeshift using his magic; he takes advantage of this and transforms himself into a cat and visits Francis, because cats can let themselves be petted and fussed over without losing dignity and can come and go as they please  WhatTheFrUK prompt


The air in Arthur's basement shifted. It was already cold, but the temperature dropped a few more degrees as the lingering cries of a spell dissipated into nothing. Elegant swirls of smoke twisted around the spell-casters form, tangling itself in his hair and winding round his fingers in a manner almost playful. Green eyes closed. The smoke submerged him. A few moments later it recoiled, pressing against the walls, as if it had been blown by wind from the centre of the pentacle the man had been standing in- had been, because he was no longer there. Gone was the messy-haired man, replaced by a messy-furred cat standing on top of a pile of crumpled clothes. Green eyes opened. The cat stretched and, looking very pleased with its self, padded off towards the stone steps out of the basement.

That same cat was sat on a wall boarding a Frenchman's house a few hours later, staring at the rather pretty building with a trace of apprehension. Arthur always felt a sense of guilt when he did this. And he had been doing it for a while. Only a little less than a thousand years, in fact; since Francis'- the very Frenchman who's house he was currently looking at- Norman boss came and invaded his house. 1066, a date most everybody knew, the year he and Francis had _really_ started fighting each other. They'd fought before, but Arthur had seen this as the ultimate betrayal of his one-time big brother. He'd resolved to never talk to the Frog again. Which hadn't worked out. He didn't even manage half a decade- which was very little time from a Nations view point, and not much longer for a human- before the memories of getting along with Francis had overwhelmed him. To his horror, he missed Francis. But his pride was just as strong and wouldn't let him seek the Frenchman out. Or rather, it wouldn't let him find Francis and have the Frog know it.

So here he was, hundreds of years later, still entirely unable to unbend his own stubbornness but still wanting the irritating Frenchman's company for reasons beyond him. For a few moments he fought a familiar internal battle on whether or not he should go inside; he always did.

"_Mon petit chat,_" the familiar voice met Arthur's feline ears. He looked up and found a pair of blue eyes smiling back at him.

"_Hey, Frog,_" Arthur responded, words coming out as a soft meow, automatically translating the French in his head.

"You've not visited me in a while," Francis reprimanded, picking Arthur up gently. "Flighty little cat, aren't you?"

Arthur almost snorted. He was no such thing.

Cooing to the cat- in exactly the same way he talked to him as a human, Arthur noted- Francis navigated his way to the kitchen. Setting Arthur down on the table, he crossed to the fridge and produced a bottle of milk, chatting easily to the cat in French as he did so.

"Here you are," he said with a smile, pouring the milk out into a dish.

Arthur couldn't say he much liked milk as a human, but there was nothing better when he shape-shifted into this form. He darted towards the drink and began lapping it up.

Smiling slightly, Francis disappeared out of the room and reappeared with a glass of wine; that was all the time it took for Arthur to finish the milk.

Francis pulled out a chair and sat down in it; Arthur didn't pay him much attention as he was preoccupied with licking away the milk he'd managed to get on his nose. Laughing his annoying French laugh, Francis reached out and stroked the back of Arthur's neck, instantly stilling the cat.

"You are adorable," Francis told the cat affectionately. Arthur purred, loving the fact he didn't feel he automatically had to hit Francis for the compliment- even if he still disagreed with it. Soft hands moved from his neck to one of his ears, perfectly cared for nails gently scratching it, prompting even louder purring as Arthur moved towards the touch.

The evening passed in much the same way; Francis seemed to be entirely unable to not dote upon the feline Arthur. In turn, the cat entirely exploited this and followed the Frenchman everywhere for the endless petting. The pair finished up in Francis' living room, the man on the sofa with another glass of wine and a book, the cat curled up on the armrest, purrs vibrating through him as Francis continued to stroke him. It was nice having his long time friend/enemy touch him in a way that wasn't sexual, though he didn't like admitting it.

"You're going to disappear again, aren't you?" Francis interrupted the silence mildly. "I do envy you being a cat."

Arthur looked at him unconcernedly- the only emotion a cat can really show. Had he been human at the time, he would have one eyebrow raised and be trying to conceal curiosity with boredom. It was quite useful, the lack of feeling in a cats expression, in this sense.

"You can come and go as you please," Francis said, as if explaining something to himself. "No obligation to stay. And no attachment to me, I should imagine." It wasn't spoken with any resentment, just a vague sort of amusement.

Arthur did not like this. He turned his head slightly to meet Francis hand and gently licked his thumb; shocking himself completely.

"Ah, now you are repentant," Francis said with a smile. "You do remind me of someone I know."

Looking away, seized by the sudden foolish worry that Francis might recognise him, Arthur jumped gracefully to the floor.

"Yes, he runs out on everything too," Francis commented, and Arthur yowled indignantly before he could stop himself. Laughing, Francis took a drink of his wine. "Don't fear, my little cat, I love you anyway."

Confusion was his immediate response, and one that the Frog managed to provoke more often than he'd like, as Arthur tried to figure out exactly what Francis meant by that. He shook his head quickly, and turned to pad off soundless across the carpet; he needed to get back home before his spell wore off.

"_See you soon, Francis..._"

The French nation turned to watch the cat go, brow slightly furrowed, but didn't get up.

Maybe, only maybe, one day Arthur would visit Francis and not hide in the guise of a cat. But only maybe.


End file.
